Maragda
by Gurhur
Summary: He would think of sunflower fields and cherry blossoms, of the summer heat in an old storage house. He would think of kids' games and young laughter, of long-lasting friendships and promises of forever. / Slight SuzaLulu; now with sequel!


**A/N: **Well. New story, new fandom. Heehee. I just finished watching Code Geass, after months and months of telling myself to just _please_, watch it already! XD Mm. Rambling. Sorry. Heehee.

Anywho. This is my first Code Geass fanfic, so please spare me. Haha. I hope you don't mind the two OCs, as they were essential to this... thing. The title, _Maragda_, is still tentative. But apparently, it's a translation of... Well. Do your research. It's pretty obvious, though. Heehee.

**Warnings:** OCs, slight shounen-ai, strangeness, not sure if it's very coherent, fail use of flowery words, not AU, self-edited

**Disclaimer:** Code Geass does not belong to me, although I would love to own Rolo (despite his obvious insanity).

**Started on:** 03/11/11

**Finished on:** 03/11/11

**Word count:** 1,379

**_Maragda_**

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><p>It was all strange, really. Every night, he would dream, and every time he woke, he would forget. No matter how hard he tried, he always forgot. It bothered him, so much so that if he was not sleeping (<em>dreaming<em>), he was wondering what the dreams were about. Sometimes he would get something, a fleeting image of what he had dreamt of—before it would vanish once more, leaving him to feel as if he had just tried to catch the wind with his bare hands.

Sometimes, he would lie in the Ashford Academy's rooftop, and he would remember things, strange things. He would think of sunflower fields and cherry blossoms, of the summer heat in an old storage house. He would think of kids' games and young laughter, of long-lasting friendships and promises of forever.

But sometimes, the things he would remember were not as peaceful, but were just as strange. He would think of destroyed houses and ashes, of the heat of fire in a battlefield. He would think of strange machines (like bigger, bulkier Knightmare Frames, so different from what they looked like now) with guns and people screaming, of heart-wrenching betrayal and broken promises.

It was all strange, very strange. It didn't help matters that he was Lelouch vi Britannia, son to Arthur el Britannia and Elaine vi Britannia, a direct descendant of Nunally vi Britannia, and therefore a relative of the 99th Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire Lelouch vi Britannia. It scared him sometimes, especially since he was said to look exactly like his great-great-great-something grandfather. He would have loved to deny it, and he sometimes did in his head, but when faced with a picture of the once-feared man, he knew that it was the truth. The resemblance between them was uncanny. From the purple eyes, the black hair, down to how they smiled—they were the same. He had a feeling that if someone were to get hold of a video or voice recording of the older man, people would say that they even _sound_ alike. It scared him, and when it didn't scare him, it made him wonder. It wasn't a coincidence, surely, that he was so much like the former emperor. That he had all these weird thoughts that he didn't know a single thing about.

But if he wasn't thinking of all that, he was thinking of colors. There would be splashes of pink, coupled with a light shade of purple (much like cousin Euphy's hair, or Aunt Cornelia's), sometimes a shade of orange (quite like Shirley's hair, or Vice Principal Jeremiah's eyes). Other times there would be dark yellow or even navy blue (and he couldn't help but think of President Milly and her fervent admirer, Rivalz). Sometimes there would be glimpses of magenta, and a kind of bright green that he couldn't really explain (he'd remember Kallen, one of the members of the student council, and the enigmatic C.C., whose real name no one knew). There were so many colors, and so many people.

The dominant color, though, was this particular shade of green, much like emeralds (_real_ emeralds, not the cheap imitations you'd find in a market). And whenever he thought of it, this warm feeling would wash over him, and it would feel as if everything was right in the world, and he would forget everything else in that moment. Then he would jerk as he realized that that shade of green, the one that was much like emeralds, _real_ emeralds, was also much like the green of Kururugi Suzaku's eyes. Kururugi Suzaku, son of Japan's last Prime Minister, Kururugi Genbu, pilot of the Lancelot, once Princess Euphemia li Britannia's Knight, before he became the Knight of Seven of the Knight of Rounds, and then the Knight of Zero, until his death at the second decisive battle of Tokyo. Lelouch was very much familiar with the color of the man's eyes, as he was included in most, if not all, of what was left of Emperor Lelouch's photos and portraits.

That scared him more than the thought of being so similar to the emperor. At least he was actually _related_ to the first Lelouch vi Britannia, but feeling warm and secure at the thought of Kururugi Suzaku's eyes—that was just _ridiculous_ (_yet __true_). Kururugi Suzaku had been dead for many, many years, dead even before the emperor himself died. Why would Lelouch feel so strongly for _a __dead __man __he__'__d __never __met?_ It was irrational and so much stranger than all his other thoughts. And it _scared_ him, scared him like nothing else could. It was like a silent proof to his theories, a testament to what could possibly be the truth.

He didn't want to accept that truth, because Emperor Lelouch had been nothing more than a dictator, a murderer who lied to and betrayed all who had cared for him. It was bad enough that he was related to that Lelouch; bad enough that he resembled the man; bad enough that he thought and dreamt of strange things, things that he couldn't really remember. Then his mind would be taken over by thoughts of Kururugi Suzaku, of eyes much like emeralds (_real_ emeralds, not the cheap imitations you'd find in the market), and he wanted to _scream_.

Sometimes he'd catch the faint whiff of pizza where there was none, and he'd think of festivals and old Knightmare Frames and large servings of pizza that could never be achieved. He'd remember the cold night air with fireworks lighting up the sky coming from a balcony somewhere in the Ashford Academy, with faceless people he felt should be important, but he couldn't remember a thing besides that. He'd remember green cellphones and white and gold heart-shaped charms, of light purple eyes and short light brown hair and the feeling of everything being _wrong_, but at the same time being right, and realizing important things much too late.

He'd remember being in a cramped space, with someone else blocking the exit (_Kururugi __Suzaku_, his mind supplied), and he would meet the man's eyes, the eyes much like emeralds (real_ emeralds, not_—__), and he would give the command to _live_. And he'd think that indeed, the man had continued to live despite the odds _multiple_ times, but _he __could __not __remember, __and __what __the __hell __was __he __thinking __of?_

There were times when, in a crowd of people, he'd think of black and blue masks and _ridiculous_ white hats, of strange eyes with strange bird-like shapes instead of pupils, of orders that could not be disobeyed and accidental meeting of eyes that would change the future. He would feel as if he were drowning in regret, wanting to atone for sins he had never made (_in __this __lifetime_). And he'd have this insane urge to apologize to cousin Euphy (_I __never __meant __to __do __it, __I__'__m __so __sorry, __I __stained __your __hands __with __the __blood __of __many__—_). But mostly he'd get the urge to apologize to Kururugi Suzaku (_Kururugi __Suzaku, __with __eyes __much __like __emeralds, _real _emeralds, __not __the__—_) and tell him everything, the truth, the lies (_I __never __meant __to __do __it, __I__'__m __sorry, __I __stained __her __hands __with __the __blood __of __many, __I __stained _your _hands __with __the __blood __of __many, __and __I __lo__—_).

Sometimes he would hear a voice, a boyish voice, calling out his name, and he would feel like calling back (_Hey, __Suza_—). But there would never be anyone there, and he would berate himself for almost saying that name (_Kururugi __Suzaku_), the name of the man he had never met (_would __never __meet_). And then he would hear the sound of laughter, familiar laughter (_Kururugi __Suzaku_), and he would feel like _screaming_. And he _would_ scream, when he was alone, until the screams turned into heart-broken shouts of that name (_Kururugi __Suzaku!_).

Sometimes he would think of sunflower fields and cherry blossoms, of the summer heat in an old storage house. He would think of kids' games and young laughter, of long-lasting friendships and promises of forever. And he would think of a certain pair of green eyes, a green much like emeralds, _real_ emeralds, not the cheap imitations you'd find in the market.

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><p><strong>AN:** ... I have nothing to say for myself. Except that even I, the author(ess), find this weird. I won't deny it. Haha. Honestly, though, I was just trying out another writing style. Tell me how you found it? XP I admit, I found it amusing that I paired up the OCs Arthur and Elaine. Quite amusing indeed. Heehee.

There was something else I was planning to say, but... I forgot. Guh.

Any questions, suggestions, concrit, complaints, etc., will be entertained if you review. 8D

**Edit:** I remember what I was going to say, thanks to my first reviewer, **Fra** (too bad you're an anon, I wanted to reply privately to thank you). I was going to ask whoever might be reading this if you're interested in something like a sequel or an epilogue...? I was actually not quite sure if I should put this as completed or not. You may tell me your opinions through reviews or PMs. :D


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